


A Gambler's Heart

by hatcoltwynonna



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Relationship, Unrequited Xavier Dolls/Wynonna Earp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29107353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatcoltwynonna/pseuds/hatcoltwynonna
Summary: In Regency England, a proper young woman is expected to wed a rich man.  For the Earp sisters, it is the only option as their father doesn’t have a son to inherit his vast land holdings or their home.  Suitors, however, are lacking for both Willa and Wynonna, as rumors swirl that the family spends—or rather, loses—money as quickly as they earn it.  For Willa, this is a cause of great misery, as she believes it is her duty to marry well, while Wynonna has no intent to marry.  She wants to fly free, see the world, and has no interest in the conventional life of a wife.  Young Waverly is unconcerned with it all, as there are novels to read, balls to attend, officers to flirt with, and a new friend, Nicole, to get to know.When wealthy Robert Svane arrives, Willa believes her chance has finally arrived and plans on marrying him. At his side is Doc Holliday, a gambler and rogue whose tragic past leaves him bound to Svane.  While Robert openly courts Willa, Waverly’s friendship with Nicole blossoms into forbidden love, and Wynonna and Doc enter into a dangerous game of lust that threatens all of their prospects.Have the Earp sisters found their perfect matches, or have they stumbled upon their family’s downfall?
Relationships: Bobo Del Rey | Robert Svane/Willa Earp, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp & Mercedes Gardner, Wynonna Earp/Doc Holliday, Xavier Dolls & Wynonna Earp
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	1. A Matter of Propriety

In the small English town of Purgatory, there were many things the Earps had. One of the finest estates in the Ghost River County stretched over acres of untamed woods and rolling hills; fine gardens were carved out of the wilderness dotted with marble statues and bubbling fountains, a classical paradise—an oasis in the middle of the rough country. The grand house at the heart of the property was built just over one hundred years ago with a persistent rumor that Sir Christopher Wren himself designed the stately brick building. While the local society held the possible connection to the famous and respected architect in high regard, the family themselves were more concerned with the comfort and practicality of their home. With wealth and respect assumed, the one other thing that seemed guaranteed for the Earps had been sons.

Wyatt Earp had been a remarkable man; he’d won his name, the land, and the esteem through hard work and a certain flair that had proven indispensable through a harrowing time for the nation. He had only one son, late in life, but that had been enough to turn his fortune into a family. His reputation was passed on along with the land, the house, and the money, and each subsequent generation managed to provide a son to inherit it all—until Ward Earp’s lovely young bride, Michelle, gave birth to a baby girl, the first born into the family in more than a hundred years. When another baby girl arrived two years later, surprise turned to dismay, and when a third daughter eventually arrived, all hope for a son was lost. The land and the money were all going to end up in the hands of a distant cousin with little affection for his relations.

Ward favored his eldest daughter, whom he raised as the son he’d been expecting. On Willa’s shoulders rested the future of the family’s fortune, as, without a son to inherit, her marriage to a rich man would keep her parents and sisters in comfort for the rest of their lives. Middle daughter Wynonna was left to grow up as untamed as the wilderness she loved to roam, wild and willful and uncontained. Waverly was the youngest, but her bright smile and sunny disposition could never win her father’s love or her mother’s attention.

The elder Earp daughters were both out, attending balls in London during the season and hunts and parties around the country. When Willa had first come of age, it was expected it would not be long before a suitor won her hand. Her loveliness, her family’s name and money, and a lifetime of preparing for her role in society all spoke to her success, and yet, her potential dowry was considerably less than any potential husband expected. It became apparent that the great wealth of the Earps was in the past, and no man of means had any interest in connecting himself and his family to a woman who offered nothing in return. The responsibility then fell to Wynonna, as her beauty was no less than her sister’s, but she had none of her sister’s grace and refinement. While the two elder sisters had failed to secure a husband, there was still Waverly who had yet to have her turn in society, but there was little chance of her having more success than her sisters. Eventually, good news came to the Earps, as Purgatory was abuzz with the news that one of the fine houses in the area which had been empty many years was to be rented by a young man of fortune. 

“What kind of a name is Svane, anyway,” Wynonna asked. She reached for another cake from the table and took a large bite.

“It means Swan,” Willa answered. She cast a disdainful glance over the table at her sister’s vulgar manners.

“Well, I don’t see why we have to go to a ball simply because some rich so-and-so deigned to winter a day’s ride from the city.”

“It’ll be fun, Wynonna,” Waverly chimed in, taking a sip of her tea. “There will be dancing, and it’ll be an opportunity to show off our accomplishments.”

“That would be wonderful if I had any accomplishments,” Wynonna lamented. “I can’t sing, I can’t play any instruments, and I doubt telling off color jokes will secure me the affections of any man of reputation.”

“It will be nice to be in society again after London,” Willa countered.

Wynonna let out a huff of derisive laughter. “Ah, yes, a ballroom full of the same stuffy, obnoxious women and boorish men as every other Purgatory event. There will be nothing to keep my interest.”

“There will be food,” Willa added dryly.

Wynonna stuffed another cake into her mouth and grimaced sardonically at her elder sister. The cake was a little dry, choking her throat, so she followed it with a gulp of tea. 

“What are you wearing?” Waverly asked Willa.

“Mama thinks I should wear the embroidered gauze, but I prefer the cream-colored silk. I don’t want him to think I’m hiding something.”

“In that dress, you won’t be hiding anything,” Wynonna added.

“Well, if I’ve any chance of netting Mr. Svane, then I am going to have to make the most of my assets.”

Wynonna let out another huff of annoyance. Her sister acted as if she was the only young woman with an attractive bosom. It was going to take a lot more than beauty to make up for the Earp’s curse.

“What are you going to wear then?” Willa asked, misunderstanding Wynonna’s displeasure.

Wynonna gestured to her striped muslin dress, brushing a few cake crumbs off the bodice. “What’s wrong with this?”

“You can’t wear a morning dress to a ball!”

“I can’t?” Wynonna replied with mock horror. Her sisters were so willing to believe her incapable of the simplest of social graces. “I can wear this if I don’t go, however.”

“You have to go. Papa said so.”

“You should wear the puce silk,” Willa said, in a tone that made it clear that Wynonna did not have a say in the matter. She didn’t care, and she certainly wasn’t about to begrudge Willa the chance to dazzle the new gentleman in the prettiest, most flattering dress. There wasn’t a man at that party who could tempt her into matrimony. Their parents were still trying to sell Willa to the highest bidder; Wynonna would run away before she let them do the same to her. Perhaps she’d run away regardless and leave this life behind. She could sail around Greece or across the sea to the colonies where they wouldn’t care whether her manners were honed and her gowns fashionable.

Wynonna grabbed a few sweet cakes for later before a servant could take away the tea tray and tucked them into her reticule wrapped in a napkin. Willa gave her a withering stare but turned to her embroidery without a word and began to make tiny, perfect stitches. Her displeasure was palpable, however, as if Wynonna’s poor manners would prevent Mr. Svane from lavishing attention on her. Instead of arguing, Wynonna turned to their younger sister. “Let’s go to town.”

Waverly’s delicate features broke into a sweet grin. “I was planning to call on Chrissy. She has a cousin staying with her—from London! Perhaps she’ll know all the new fashions!”

Wynonna grimaced at the idea, but quickly schooled her expression at her sister’s eager one. “I was hoping to walk.” It was nearly a mile further to town by way of Aspen Lodge, where Chrissy Nedley and her father lived, than to go by the crossroads.

“Oh,” she said, her voice faltering. “Yes, a walk would be nice; it is still such lovely weather.”

She sounded so disappointed that Wynonna couldn’t help but change her own plans to suit her younger sister. “Why don’t I drive the phaeton to the Nedleys, call on Chrissy and the new cousin, then perhaps they would like to walk to town with us. If not, then I can leave you there with the carriage, and walk to town on my own. I’m certain Col. Nedley would lend you a groom to drive it home.”

Waverly threw her arms around Wynonna’s neck, and it was decided. Bonnets, spencers, and shawls were bandied about upstairs, a groom was summoned to prepare the phaeton, and soon Wynonna was heading out the door, her stolen cakes tucked into a basket at her feet, along with the rest of its contents—another pilfered item she hoped Waverly didn’t notice. If Chrissy’s cousin was anything like Chrissy, then Wynonna was going to need it. 

The Nedleys lived in a house smaller than their own, but it was still fine, the front studded with windows and well-tended gardens to the side. They found Chrissy there, in the cutting garden, harvesting flowers with a tall, redheaded girl around Wynonna’s age. 

“Wynonna, Waverly!” Chrissy called out, a bright nosegay of flowers in her hand. Wynonna put on her best smile and prepared herself for half an hour of boring conversation and weak tea. The two young women put down their cuttings and ran to the Earp sisters. “May I introduce my cousin Miss Haught?”

“Yes, of course,” Wynonna answered automatically. Chrissy offering to introduce her cousin meant that she was either younger than Wynonna or of a lower station in life than the Earp sisters, Wynonna did not care which—a bore was a bore no matter what class.

“Nicole,” Chrissy said, turning to her cousin. “Misses Wynonna and Waverly Earp.”

“Are you French?” Wynonna asked upon hearing the new acquaintance’s first name. 

“No. My grandparents were, however.” She had no hint of an accent, so Wynonna felt a little stupid for asking. The idea had just sprung into her mind fully formed, and she had had no choice but to voice it.

“Yes, Wynonna, she’s secretly Napoleon,” Chrissy said with a laugh. Everyone else joined in, and Wynonna was forcibly reminded how little she liked their neighbor. 

“I have never been to France,” Nicole added. Chrissy led them into the house, where they settled into a sitting room. 

“This isn’t a call,” Waverly explained. “We were going to walk into town and wanted to know if you—both of you—would like to join.”

To Wynonna’s chagrin, both young ladies decided to join them. She’d hoped they would have kept Waverly distracted instead, leaving Wynonna free to find more interesting people in town. Nicole seemed nice enough. Willa would be glad she wasn’t about to be competition for marriageable rich men. Red hair, as tall as a man: Nicole Haught wasn’t about to win a suitor over Willa Earp. She was pretty enough, though, as to make an acceptable acquaintance, or even friend, for the Earp sisters. Waverly seemed to like her, at least, from the way they were enthusiastically chatting on the road into town. The well-worn dirt turned to cobbles and they soon came to the inn and its outbuildings. It was a respectable establishment, but occasionally less-than-respectable people stayed there, so Waverly led them to the right side of the street where they could peek in the windows of the milliner’s shop. Wynonna often preferred the company of such disreputable people, so she split the difference by walking in the center  
where she caught sight of a familiar figure loading packages onto the mail coach. She tried to catch his eye, but any communication would have to wait for later.

Their end goal was to the dressmaker’s, of course, but simply to admire and imagine. There was a closet full of gowns made by a modiste in London for the recent season that they could choose from—or not choose from, in Wynonna’s case. If Nicole had nothing appropriate, then she would have to make do with a gown borrowed from her cousin, as there was simply no time for anything new to be made in the three days before the ball, unless you were Mercedes Gardner, but her father was a Viscount. Before they reached the shop, however, all thoughts of dresses were diverted by a group of officers in bright red coats.

“Lieutenant Hardy!” Waverly cried out, rushing over to greet the young man who was sweet on her. 

Soldiers were certainly a lot more interesting than most gentlemen, so the group—minus the relentlessly dull Lt. Hardy—was enough to hold Wynonna’s attention for a while. One young man, tall and fair haired, with a broad smile and shoulders to match, was especially appealing. 

“Miss Earp,” he said. “Would you save a dance for me at the ball Tuesday evening?”

With that one question, Wynonna lost all interest in the officer. Flirting was fun, but dancing was one step toward courtship, which was one step too far toward marriage. “One dance,” she answered, her smile gone from genuine to fake.

If he felt affronted by the stinginess of her dance card, he said nothing, but bowed respectfully and left with his fellow soldiers.

“Lieutenant Hardy is the finest man England has created,” Waverly sighed. 

“If conversation is not an essential aspect of a fine man,” Wynonna said, earning a quick laugh from Nicole. Perhaps, there was hope for the redhead’s companionship after all. 

As soon as the other ladies were occupied with the fine silks and muslins of the dressmakers, Wynonna put her plan in action. “I forgot,” she lied. “I had meant to pick up some ribbons at the milliners. I don’t want to put any of you out, so I’ll take care of that myself.”

“No need to worry,” Chrissy said. “We’ll accompany you. I may purchase a new—”

“I wanted them to be a surprise,” Wynonna interrupted. She didn’t wait for a response, rushing out of the shop and back towards the inn. She bypassed the front entrance to sneak around to the back where the stables were.

Dolls was already there, leaning against the brick wall of the stables and waiting for her.

“It took me forever to get away,” she said with a shrug. She placed her basket on the ground and arranged her shawl to protect her white skirt from the dirt as she leaned against it at his side. “I can’t stay long. I have to get to the milliners and buy ribbon before Waverly finishes dreaming of what dress will land her that fool Hardy.”

“Such problems for a gentlewoman,” Dolls said with a grin. 

“I can still best you in any stick game, Dolls.”

“What will you do with your petticoats?”

She rolled her eyes at his easy teasing. There was never any pretense or falsity with Dolls; Wynonna felt as though she could finally breathe easily. With a smile and a flourish, she removed the cloth hiding the treats in her basket. She took out the bundle of cakes and offered them to him.

“Oh good, your cook made the ones with currants,” he said with excitement as he unfolded the napkin. As soon as they were revealed, their sweet smell tempted her again, but there was another temptation she was far more interested in. She dug into the basket again, unearthing the bottle of brandy stolen from her father’s study. She took a long swig before offering some to her friend. 

“If I want to lose my job,” he said through a mouth full of cake. “You’ll lose something else if your mother finds out you’re off drinking brandy again. Or worse—if Waverly did.”

“She probably thinks I ran off to meet a man.”

“I’m not a man?” Dolls asked, raising an eyebrow as he ate another cake. 

“You’re Dolls.”

“And what does that make me?” There was a touch of genuine hurt to his question that made Wynonna regret her taunting. 

“You’re a friend,” she sighed. “I would feel the same way about you if you were the one walking around in petticoats.”

Dolls laughed at that, at least, and all seemed right again. It was nice, for a while, to feel like a person in her old friend’s presence instead of a doll to be dressed up by Willa. Wynonna took another swig of brandy and handed the bottle to Dolls, who finally took a long drink himself. 

“Perhaps I should show up at the ball in a secondhand gown,” he quipped. “You could pass me off as your cousin.”

She laughed, but the realization of the difference in their circumstances made it a hollow one. Dolls, of course, hadn’t received an invitation from Mr. Svane, nor was the lack of one any oversight. These stolen moments of friendship were all they were allowed; on the street she didn’t owe her oldest and dearest friend even a nod of acquaintance. She grabbed the bottle back from him and indulged in a long drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol clear away the unease.

Even as conversation turned to gossip about the residents of the inn and their interesting lives, Wynonna felt the crevasse between them growing. Wynonna drank her father’s brandy while she listened to the stories of strangers she’d never meet; people’s whose lives were as different from her own as Dolls’ was. It was with a measure of relief that she realized it was time to return to her sister and neighbors. She tucked the brandy back into the basket, neatened her skirt and shawl, and said farewell to her only true friend.

Wynonna left Dolls to his work and returned to the front of the inn, where she dropped her shawl in the dirt so as to hide any stains from the wall. She was about to pick it up when a hand swept down and stole it away. 

“M’lady,” the gentleman said—for he was a gentleman—as he held out her soiled shawl. He was tall, with clever, hard eyes, and an extravagant coat; her gut recoiled with instant and intense dislike.

“Mr. Svane,” she forced herself to say politely. “Thank you for your chivalry.”

“It was my distinct pleasure, Miss,” he said, bowing far more deeply than the occasion warranted. “Are we previously acquainted?”

Since she had acknowledged him, he should have been able to deduce their introduction, so she was put in an awkward position. Social etiquette was tiresome. “You have invited my family to your ball,” Wynonna answered.

“Excellent,” Mr. Svane said. “I am happy to be playing host.”

“Unfortunately,” a voice from just inside the door said, as Mr. Svane laughed.

“You see, Henry, why you should come?” he called to his companion, still hidden in the darkness of the doorway. “You will be introduced to lovely ladies who would never consider an acquaintance otherwise, such as Miss”—he nodded towards her inquisitively. 

“Miss Earp.”

“Ah, yes, one of Ward Earp’s daughters. Which one are you again?”

“Second eldest,” she answered. 

“I shall have to ask all three Earp sisters to dance, then, shan’t I?”

It sounded more like a threat than an offer, but Wynonna kept her composure. “I suppose you shall, though my younger sister is not yet out in society.”

“This is charming,” the voice from the doorway drawled. “But, Robert, it is your turn, and I am not waiting on you.”

“Your friend?” she asked Mr. Svane. 

“Henry is no one’s friend,” Mr. Svane answered, making no effort to introduce the mysterious man, despite Wynonna’s noticeable interest. The rules of social etiquette were complicated, so it could have been as simple as that, but Wynonna had a feeling that the enigmatic Henry was not an appropriate acquaintance for a lady. That only made him all the more interesting.

“I have friends,” Henry answered, his drawling voice light despite the shadows in which he was concealed. “They simply do not force me against my will to attend country dances.”

Mr. Svane tilted his head back and laughed, then tipped forward in another elaborate bow. “I take my leave, Miss Earp. I look forward to seeing you and both your sisters Tuesday.”

As he went back into the darkness of the inn, the mysterious Henry in the doorway had to move out of the way and into a streak of sunlight. Wynonna caught a glimpse of a fine profile with an unusual military-style mustache before he disappeared into the darkness once again.

Wynonna shook the encounter from her mind and crossed the street to the milliner’s with purpose. The shop was full of bonnets and other trinkets to steal her attention, but she rushed to the counter without giving them more than a passing glance.

“I need ribbons,” she gasped to the shopkeeper. He motioned for her to choose a color, but she cut him off. “One yard of each.”

He shot her a quizzical glance but began to cut the ribbons to length. He’d gotten halfway through when Waverly, Nicole, and Chrissy arrived.

“I thought you’d be done already,” Waverly said with a suspicious frown.

“I had an interesting run in with Mr. Svane,” Wynonna explained, leaving out her visit with Dolls. “He wishes to dance with all three of us Earps at his ball.”

Waverly’s face broke into a pleased smile. “Willa will be delighted.”

“Yes,” Wynonna said, still uneasy over their strange meeting and the mysterious Henry. She took her package from the shopkeeper and stepped out into the sunlight. Across the street, the door to the inn was still open and a waft of smoke slithered into the street. She could just make out a dark figure standing in the shadows, watching her.


	2. The Rules of the Dance

The days until the ball seemed to pass like treacle on a winter’s day. Waverly would get to attend as if she were out like her sisters as it was so near her sixteenth birthday, and she wanted to wear her pretty dress, dance with handsome officers, and meet interesting new people. She did not want to dry lavender, make pomanders, practice stitches, serve tea, or any of the other tiresome tasks that made up daily life at Earp Park. At least Miss Haught had come to call, so there was something fun in between the tedium. They’d chatted for hours on Monday, until Mama and both her sisters had wandered off to ride or paint. Nicole, as Waverly had already begun to think about her in such intimate terms, was swiftly becoming a dear friend. If only Willa and Waverly were as open to the relationship. Wynonna, at least, accepted the acquaintance with fond bemusement, but Willa seemed to outright dislike Nicole for no discernable reason, except that Willa always seemed to begrudge Waverly’s desires. 

As the hours counted down until they would leave for Mr. Svane’s estate, nothing could keep Waverly’s attention. She made a halfhearted attempt at reading, but the novel, so captivating not a week earlier, seemed as tedious and boring as everything else. It did not help that Willa and Wynonna would not stop bickering about hair. The noise of it drifted into Waverly’s bedroom as they chased each other through the hall. All of it simply because Willa refused to let Wynonna wear a bandeau in her hairstyle.

“It’s my hair,” Wynonna argued.

“You know how important this is to me, ‘Nonna,” Willa pleaded.

“It’s a ribbon—no pearls, no feathers, no gold trim—a simple, plain ribbon the color of the ugly gown you’re making me wear.”

“It’s adornment. I can’t have you looking prettier than me if I’m to win Mr. Svane’s heart.”

“I don’t want Mr. Svane’s heart,” Wynonna countered. “You may have it. I only wish to wear a ribbon in my hair. That is all.”

“I know you’re up to something,” Willa said, her brow furrowed in suspicion.

Waverly had little idea why Wynonna cared so much about a ribbon in her hair when only a few days before she didn’t care what she wore at all. “Willa,” Waverly interrupted, sticking her head through the adjoining doorway into Willa’s bedroom. “Let Wynonna wear the ribbon, and I won’t wear the pearl comb.”

“I don’t care if _you’re_ gilded,” Willa huffed. “You’re not half as pretty as Wynonna.”

Waverly shut her book with a slam. “Fine!” She threw it onto her bed with little thought of its pages and stalked downstairs and out through the doors into the garden. She found her favorite bench and dropped herself onto it, taking only the most minor of precautions as to her own gown. Hot tears burned her eyes as she fought the urge to cry. She hated Willa, and she hated Wynonna for not coming to Waverly’s aid the way Waverly had hers. Being the youngest was never fair; she got outgrown gowns and the smallest bedchamber. 

She had been sobbing for several moments when a warm hand began to rub her back in soothing circles. “Waverly, darling, you’re going to wrinkle your gown, and then what will you do?”

“Mama?”

“I’m here, baby girl.”

Waverly leaned into her mother’s embrace, snuggling into the softness of her silk gown. “I hate Willa.”

Mama sighed. “Your damn fool of a father has given Willa all sorts of ideas. At least once she finds herself a rich husband, she’ll no longer be our problem.”

“Mama!” Waverly exclaimed.

“It’s fine to hate Willa, sometimes, but it’s also fine to love her sometimes, too,” Mama said. She smoothed out the tendrils of Waverly’s hair with deft fingers. “People are complicated. Willa thinks this is her last chance at saving the family—at having something of her own—so she’s put a lot of pressure on herself. I know it’s not fair when she transfers that pressure to you and Wynonna, but you can’t take it personally. What did she say?”

“She said I wasn’t as pretty as Wynonna.”

“There is more to life than how you look, Waverly,” her mother soothed. “You are a lot of other things that are much better than being pretty. You’re smart. You’ve always got a book in hand, and you’re teaching yourself Latin. If you were a boy, we would be planning your future at Oxford. You’re kind, too—sweeter than any cake cook could dream up. And you’re also very pretty.”

“You’re placating me.”

Her mother gave her back a soft tap of annoyance. “Oh, so Willa calls Wynonna prettier and that’s the God-honest truth, but I say you’ve read more books in a week than Willa has in her life and I don’t mean it?”

“I suppose you could mean it,” Waverly admitted with a pout. “But it still hurts when Willa—”

“Willa hurts,” her mother interrupted. “So Willa hurts others in return. That’s not the person I hoped she’d be, but she is who she is, and I love her anyway. I know you love her, too.”

Waverly sighed. None of it was fair, but she dried her tears, put on a brave face, and walked back to the house where her sisters were likely still bickering. 

Willa and Wynonna had come downstairs, and Waverly was gratified to see a puce ribbon in Wynonna’s hair. Her dress was a shade of brownish red, a few years past being the height of fashion, yet Waverly could see why Willa was so threatened by their middle sister. Wynonna glowed with the fierceness of her spirit as much as the loveliness of her face. She wore her dress as if it were the newest style from the Continent, the matching ribbon setting off her simple chignon and the curls that framed her face. Wynonna enjoyed the attention of a handsome man for certain, but she would rather catch a fly than a husband. If only Willa realized that their sister was never going to be competition for marriageable gentlemen, then there would be less fighting.

The family climbed into their largest carriage and headed to Delrey House. As their footman helped the ladies out of the carriage, Waverly took in the sights. She always loved to see friends and acquaintances in their finery. The women looked like exotic birds, in feathered headdresses and bejeweled gowns, the men like bucks in their silk breeches and embroidered waistcoats. In the stream of people, any single Earp sister blended in with the crowd, no more lovely than any other lady and no less intelligent or witty than any other guest.

Chrissy and Nicole found them immediately, rushing up to their friends with news of who had already arrived and who was fashionably late. They were all out, leaving only Waverly who was still considered a child. In London, she’d never be allowed to go to a ball, but Purgatory society was much less concerned with such distinctions. Waverly could dance and enjoy the evening along with her sisters and friends who were already in society.

“Who is the hostess?” Willa asked, eyeing with suspicion the dark-haired young woman greeting guests like she was mistress of the house.

“Mr. Svane’s half-sister, Rosita,” Chrissy explained. “Unmarried sister.”

“She’s very pretty,” Nicole pointed out.

Waverly agreed, Mr. Svane’s sister was lovely and buxom, with dark eyes and a winsome smile. 

“I heard she’s already set her cap for one of the gentlemen here,” a wry voice said from behind them.

“Mercedes!” Willa cried out with uncharacteristic joy. 

“Willa!” Mercedes echoed. Her dress was heavily embellished with pearls and glass beads on the gauze overdress, which opened at the front; it had puffed and cut sleeves, and she wore an elaborate feathered bandeau that matched. She was, by far, the most elaborately dressed young lady at the ball. Waverly could not recall Mercedes wearing the dress in London, so it must have been new.

“You look beautiful,” Willa said to her friend.

“Of course, I do,” Mercedes answered with a haughty laugh. “You look fine, as well.”

Only Mercedes could get away with talking to Willa like that. Before Willa became obsessed with her search for a husband, she, Wynonna, and Mercedes had been inseparable best friends. It was only then that Waverly realized her sister was no longer in their little group. “Where’s Wynonna?”

“I can’t wait to see what she’s wearing,” Mercedes said with an amused drawl.

“The puce,” Willa replied.

“You are terrible,” Mercedes laughed.

Waverly searched the crowd for Wynonna, but her sister had disappeared into the sea of silk. Instead, Waverly noticed a pair of gentlemen approaching.

“Mrs. Earp,” the lead gentleman said.

“Mr. Svane,” she replied. “You may remember my daughters, Miss Willa Earp and my youngest, Miss Waverly Earp, and Miss Gardner, Miss Nedley, and Miss Haught.” He bowed to each in turn. There was something unsettling in the way his eyes settled on her, but Willa seemed charmed. “My other daughter seems to have stepped away. I’m sure you’ll have a chance to be acquainted eventually.”

“I, ah, had the pleasure of encountering the missing Miss Earp the other day in town. I expressed to her my interest in dancing with all three of your daughters this evening. Miss Earp, if you would?”

“And your friend? Will he dance?” Mama asked, gesturing to the dark-haired man behind him. Strangely, the other man had a mustache and a small lip beard, which Waverly had only ever seen before on older officers. This man, however, was still young and dressed in fashionable civilian clothes with artfully mussed hair. He was handsome enough that his facial hair didn’t seem to matter; he was being eyed with considerable interest by more than one young lady in their group.

“Mr. Holliday,” Mr. Svane said. “My associate from the former colonies.”

“Perhaps you’d like to dance with one of the other lovely ladies,” Mama offered. Chrissy rose to her tippy toes in interest. “My Waverly, perhaps?”

“I am afraid that I do not dance,” he said, to the audible disappointment of Chrissy.

“But you’re at a ball,” Mama pointed out. “And there are more ladies present than gentleman.”

“True, but I am not here by choice,” Mr. Holliday replied. “And I will not go against my nature simply to uphold social conventions. Ladies.” He tipped an imaginary hat and turned his back on the group.

“I apologize for my associate’s rudeness,” Mr. Svane said smoothly, but the sentiment didn’t reach his eyes, which were still cold and clever. He took Willa’s arm and escorted her to the dance floor.

It was not long before the York brothers claimed Chrissy and Mercedes for a dance, leaving only Nicole and Waverly without partners. On the other side of the room, Waverly spotted Lt. Hardy; her heart fluttered at his handsome form, but then she saw the lovely young lady clad in silk and feathers on his arm. 

“I can’t believe how rude that American was to you,” Mama said, placing a soft hand on Waverly’s shoulder. 

“I don’t mind,” Waverly lied. “I didn’t even want to dance with him.” That was true enough, at least; Mr. Holliday was not her type at all. Her focus was still on the handsome officer who owed her a dance.

“If there’s a shortage of men,” Nicole pointed out with a sly grin. “Why don’t we dance?”

“Together?”

Nicole smiled sweetly. “Of course. It happens all the time in London. The wars have left a dearth of eligible young men.”

“Mama?”

“Dance, baby girl. Don’t let some rude upstart ruin your evening.”

Nicole took her hand, and they joined their three friends and their partners in a group. Her hand was softer than any gentleman’s and no bigger than Waverly’s. Being the taller partner, she stood alongside Mr. Svane and the York brothers, while Waverly stood in line after Willa, Mercedes, and Chrissy. They faced each other as the music began; when Willa and Mr. Svane, as the lead couple, clasped hands and stepped forward, they were followed by the next two couples, and then it was Waverly and Nicole’s turn. Nicole gave her a soft smile as she took her hand again, and they repeated the steps.

They stayed like that as Mr. Svane and Willa and Chrissy and Kyle York danced around them, ending up behind them in line. It was then their turn to part and do the same. Waverly missed the soft warmth of Nicole’s hand in hers. Each time they separated; it was a relief to return to Nicole’s comfortable presence. As they turned around each other, Nicole smiled in encouragement, even as Waverly missed a beat and had to stumble through the rest of the turn. Minuets were always so difficult, stepping out and turning in tiny variations as they walked down the dancefloor. Nicole made it so much easier, however. Not only did she know all the moves by heart, but her confidence was inspiring. Nicole took both of Waverly’s hands in hers, leading her into the next turn. When they stepped away, it left Waverly aware of how cold her hands were without Nicole’s in hers. They came together once more, moving through the original steps until they had made another circle of the dancefloor.

They separated one final time; Waverly curtsied with the other ladies, but Nicole made a distinguished bow alongside the gentleman. Waverly couldn’t help but giggle, Nicole joining in, and they soon had Willa frowning at them angrily. Waverly shrugged her shoulders in apology, but even Willa couldn’t dim her enthusiasm. The dance was finished; those who had merely watched clapped politely as the partners separated and left the dance floor. Nicole was flushed pink; it clashed prettily with her bright hair. Waverly must have been a sight herself. Tendrils of hair clung to her face and the back of her neck as if plastered there from the exertion. 

They wandered to the refreshments where Nicole obtained two glasses of orgeat. Waverly eagerly drank hers down, its cloying sweetness revitalizing her after the exertion. Nicole sipped her glass daintily, one tiny drop at a time, and Waverly felt that her own manners must have been ghastly in comparison. She refilled her glass and tasted it delicately, but the taste was so syrupy and bland it was repulsive, so she gulped the rest down as she had the first. Nicole looked at her over the top of the cup with fondness in her eyes, and Waverly’s flush deepened. Any rude gentlemen or disinterested officers fell out of thought; not a one of them could hold a candle to Nicole Haught.

“Do you want to dance again?” Waverly asked. 

“Well,” Nicole started, a smile growing on her pretty lips, “there is still a shortage of gentlemen.”

Returning their cups to the servant serving the punch, they clasped hands and made for the dance floor again.


	3. A Modest Wager

“I do not care to dance tonight.”

“You promised me a dance, though,” Lt. Charles argued with a simper.

“Yes,” Wynonna conceded. There was no way around it, either she danced with the young soldier, or she found an excuse to sit out every dance. She sighed in resignation and let the tall young man lead her onto the dance floor. She could see Willa and Waverly on the other side of the dance floor; there was no point joining them, so she and Lt. Charles made a group with a few of his fellow officers. Wynonna only wanted to find a secluded sitting room where she could sit the dance out without bother. Trapped by her unwanted suitor, Wynonna danced a half-hearted minuet, then quit the dancefloor before her partner could offer her refreshment or claim another dance. 

She wandered back into the entrance hall, where several tables with chairs had been set up for those who didn’t wish to dance or didn’t have a partner to watch the dancers. A gaggle of older women Wynonna only vaguely knew had made the area their own. As Wynonna walked past, she received their full attention, suspicious glares that she hadn’t done anything to deserve. She found another hall and ducked through the doorway. It wasn’t as if she were running away from the party; she simply wanted to avoid the tittering ladies gossiping over who danced with who and the gentlemen who thought that a dance meant she belonged to them. Her life was her own, and she had no interest in being currency in a marriage arranged by her father. The narrow hall held nothing more than a door back into the ballroom and one that led towards the north wing. The sounds of a quadrille drifted through the air; dancers would be finding partners and leading them onto the dance floor. 

Wynonna took the other door.

It opened into a small room with little adornment. It appeared to be being used as a decker’s room for servants to move refreshments from the kitchen next door into the ballroom and dining room for the guests, but it was at that moment empty. She moved quickly through it into yet another hall. A door on the end led to the outside. The freedom of the gardens tempted her, but she chose one of the doors on her left instead. The small room she stepped into was decorated with tapestries that she remembered from childhood. They had clearly been well-beaten by the servants when Mr. Svane took over the house, so they were clean, but the colors had faded with time and, in some places, the cloth was worn through. She examined the closest; it depicted angels in heaven, playing harps and flapping their golden wings among the clouds. On the opposite wall, there was hell, full of demons and devils, fire, and brimstone, and on the wall in the middle, several smaller tapestries illustrated the battle between the two. Such a baroque and old-fashioned design seemed like something a new owner wouldn’t have kept, but she supposed Mr. Svane could have liked them. She was so focused on the tapestries, she hadn’t noticed the door behind her until it opened, pouring sweet tobacco smoke and deep voices into the room, and a gentleman joined her. She knew him from his shop in town, so she returned his polite nod, as he exited back to the ball through another door between the battle scenes. 

Wynonna’s curiosity was piqued. Her hand found the doorknob before she had even made a conscious decision, and it opened before her. The scent of smoke was stronger, thick and heavy in the air, as she stepped into the room, which was nearly as large as the ballroom. Several men were playing at two billiards tables nearest her.

“Miss, this isn’t the venue for a lady such as yourself,” one of the men playing said. 

His condescending tone made her want to argue, but another voice chimed in. “If the lady wants to play, who are you to stop her?” 

“I play billiards,” Wynonna explained defensively. It was the truth—her father had taught her from a young age—but saying it made her feel like a petulant child. 

“Money is exchanging hands, Miss,” the first man said. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light and the cigar smoke, and she recognized him as one of Mercedes’ cousins.

“I can’t imagine Miss Earp has a problem with gambling,” the second voice drawled. The accent was strange to her, as was his face, but the voice was familiar, and he seemed to know her by name. “Her father is known to frequent the tables on occasion.”

Curiosity drew her further into the room, and she followed the sound of the voice towards a card table in the back of the room. The stranger stood up at her approach, taking her hand and bending into a deep bow. Unlike Mr. Svane in town, it didn’t seem over the top or outlandish, but perhaps that was because of the man’s striking appearance. He cut a fine figure in his breeches and stockings, his coat matching the deep blue of his eyes. His nose was straight, his chin strong and manly, his eyes sparkling. Unusually, he wore a thick mustache and a small beard just below his lip. Among all the clean-shaven faces at the ball, it made him look out of time, but that somehow only made him more attractive. She wanted to confront him and ask him how he knew her name, or at least who he was, but she found herself distracted by his handsome face. 

He hadn’t yet let go of her hand. “I feel, sir,” she finally croaked out. “That I am at the disadvantage, as you seem to know me, but I don’t believe we are acquainted.”

“Ah, but we met just a few days ago,” he said mysteriously. “I am surprised you don’t remember the introduction—John Henry Holliday.” He kissed the hand he was holding, rubbing his thumb against her glove and letting the kiss linger a few seconds longer than society deemed appropriate, but society could fall off a hay wagon. He was already more interesting than most men. The last time she had been this intrigued by a stranger, it had been the mysterious man at the inn.

“Henry,” she said, realization dawning on her. 

The corners of his mouth turned up at her use of his given name. “Sometimes.” He picked up a glass of brandy from the table, letting the amber liquid swirl before taking a draught. Before he could set it down again, she took it from him and finished the glass. As she licked the last drop from her lips, his eyes followed the motion, and his own tongue flicked out to touch his bottom lip. “Friends call me Doc.”

“You’re a doctor?” she asked.

“Of dentistry,” he clarified. “Or I was. It turned out I was not so fond of stealing teeth. I keep myself in the life I am accustomed to by doing what you see here, taking the money of men who are more fortunate in life than I am.”

One of the other men harrumphed at his bold proclamation, but a quick look at the table confirmed he was not exaggerating. 

“You’re a professional gambler,” she declared with a laugh. She liked him more and more; he was certainly a lot more interesting than the dandies and fools in the ballroom. Perhaps that was the reason they drifted away from the table, their conversation becoming private. “You dress like a gentleman.”

“I can’t be both?” His eyes flicked down her figure, taking in her appearance with a twinkle in his eye. “May I say that is a lovely gown,” he drawled. 

“It’s the color of a flea,” Wynonna replied dryly, regarding the brownish-red silk that clothed her bosom. The color may have been dreadful, but it still drew the focus to her white flesh peeking out from the gown’s low neckline. 

Doc’s eyes flicked upwards to her face, and his lips turned up in a devilish smirk. “Ah, but it is the color of a flea, swollen with blood, pressed into the bedsheets with the quick flick of a hand.”

“My bedsheets are unsoiled, sir.”

His smile broadened, carving a pair of dimples into his cheeks. It made him look almost innocent despite his suggestive words. “I must be sleeping in the wrong places, then.”

“Indeed,” she replied with a smile of her own.

“Holliday,” one of the men at the table called out. “Either call the turn or forfeit.”

“One moment,” he said to Wynonna, then returned to the table, sat down, and placed his bet. The banker dealt three cards, and there was a roar of anger as Holliday collected.

“May I place a bet?” She approached the table again, herself.

“This is no game for ladies, Miss Earp,” one of the other men replied.

“I might be willing to make a personal wager,” Holliday said, his eyes sparkling dangerously. “Providing the stakes were to my interest.”

“For my bedsheets?” She smirked; she was rewarded with a laugh as soft as satin. “Since yours are soiled.”

“I would prefer the ribbon from your hair.”

Her hand moved instinctively to her chignon. Wearing the bandeau that night had been a major victory wrested from Willa’s iron grip. It was a foolish thing, she supposed, to give any meaning to a little piece of fabric. She had bought it after tasting a few minutes of freedom, and it had become imbued with the idea of choosing who she interacted with, where she went, what she said and did. Somehow, however, she felt like he understood that fact; he had, after all, been there, hidden in the shadows as she claimed that small amount of independence. “If I win, I would like a seat at the table,” she countered.

He offered her a seat with a wave of her hand, which she took, making a scene of how primly and delicately she could seat herself. The game on the table was left untouched, and Holliday took a new deck of cards, which he shuffled and placed on the table. “Shall you cut it?—to see that I am not cheating.”

“Do you cheat often?”

He laughed good-naturedly, but she could see the hackles rise on the men around them at the suggestion. Wynonna did as he asked, however, setting the top half on the table next to the pile. Holliday recombined them and dealt one card to each of them. “The game is simple; the high card wins.”

She surreptitiously peeked at the underside of the card; the face of a queen greeted her. She tried to school her face into impassiveness, but she knew she had him. His face was impossible to read, its perfect features giving away nothing. With his nod of assent, she flipped her card over, the prize all but secured, and waited until he did the same.

“A king?” she asked in disbelief.

“It appears I win,” he said lightly. 

By the expression on his face, Wynonna wasn’t sure if that was quite true, but he had earned his token either way. The ribbon was merely decorative; her hair was pinned up underneath it, so there was no erotic display of wild locks falling to her shoulders, but there might have been for the sensuousness of his gaze. Part of her wanted to climb in his lap and take what he was offering, and part of her wanted to slap him. In the end, neither impulse won out, and she let the ribbon fall to the table next to the cards.

“I am glad I came tonight, Miss Earp,” he said, as he snatched the ribbon up as if it was a much sought-after treasure.

“Miss Wynonna Earp.” Miss Earp meant Willa, and Wynonna most definitely did not want to let Mr. Holliday get confused.

“Wynonna,” he repeated, softly, as if to himself. He made her name sound musical, like a long-forgotten song that may have cursed a prince in a widow’s tale.

“Gentlemen,” she said, standing and taking her leave. There was a mumble of farewells, mostly grumbles of relief. Holliday, for his part, was turning the ribbon over in his hand as if transfixed. “Doc,” she added.

He looked up, gazing at her with a fondness she definitely didn’t deserve, and she felt the promise in the air thick as the smoke from the men’s cigars. She turned her back on it, however, and retraced her steps back to the ballroom.

“Wynonna!” her sisters greeted her in an overwhelming cacophony. “Where have you been?”

“I danced with Mr. Svane twice!”

“Have you danced at all?”

“I got lost,” she shrugged. “I went looking for a sitting room and couldn’t get back to the ballroom.”

Willa shook her head in sympathetic disbelief, as if she couldn’t comprehend her silly younger sister. “And look at you! You’re so careless, you lost your bandeau. After you insisted you wear it.”

Wynonna’s hand went to her hair again. “It must have gotten caught on something.”

“I’m starving,” Waverly sighed. “When is dinner.”

“There are another two dances,” Willa answered. “One of which you owe to Mr. Svane, Wynonna. You mustn’t shun him. I do believe he fancies me, and I don’t want you to ruin it.”

The next dance turned out to be a reel, and Mr. Svane did indeed come to claim his promised dance.

“You have been hard to track down, Miss Earp,” he said.

“I was acquainting myself with some of your more surprising guests. You keep unusual company, Mr. Svane.” 

Gratefully, the music began, and they became too busy with the quick and intricate steps to converse. At least a reel was fun, with a lively beat and little interaction with her partner. Mr. Svane was a good dancer, but Wynonna couldn’t help wondering what dancing with Henry—Doc—would be like. Would he be a firm leader, taking control of the tempo and rhythm, or would he let her skill level determine the pace? Oh, she was getting warm from all this dancing!

The dance came to an end, and she thanked Mr. Svane for the dance. He leaned in close, as if speaking in confidence. “You have to be careful with whom _you_ keep company, Miss Earp. I wouldn’t want your reputation sullied.”

She smiled, meeting his sharp gaze. “And if you harm Willa—or Waverly—I will gut you and learn to play the violin.”

He seemed impressed by her threat. “Well, we are a pistol, aren’t we?”

She knew in that moment that she hated him—truly hated everything about him. She’d shoot him between the eyes before she’d let him marry her sister.

No gentleman or officer asked Wynonna to dance the next dance, so she sat with her parents along the wall, watching her sisters and their partners dance a complex cotillion. She was surprised to find Doc among the dancers, partnered with the hostess, Rosita. He wasn’t a particularly good dancer, especially for such a difficult dance as a cotillion, and he had to walk through many of the figures while his partner danced them. Nevertheless, his manly bearing and fine figure made up for any skill lacking. Wynonna watched him stumble his way through the dance like a child learning to walk, and it was an entirely different side to the man who had spoken to her so brazenly. It did nothing to tamper her interest in him, nor her jealousy at watching him with his partner. He had chosen to dance with Miss Rosita, who was by far the prettiest lady on the dancefloor, while Wynonna sat along the wall with the invalids.

Wynonna’s ribbon was likely tucked away in his waistcoat pocket, providing he had even thought to keep it. He may have simply taken it from her as a lark, with no meaning outside of showing her he had all the power. She wished she had slapped him when the opportunity had presented itself. His foursome passed near her chair, so she busied herself with the folds of her skirt, but not soon enough. He caught her eye, his expression changing from one of concentration to something she hadn’t yet learned the name of. His footwork faltered again, as he missed an easy figure and threw off the whole group. She couldn’t help but laugh at his folly; a sour twist of his mouth suggested he could hear her laughter over the orchestra. When his eyes caught hers, however, his eyes sparkled with mirth and mischief. His partner followed his glance toward Wynonna, and her frown was genuine. She grabbed his hands and guided him through the next part of the dance.

He finished the dance without another acknowledgement of Wynonna and escorted his partner into the dining room for supper. Wynonna took one of her father’s arms, her mother on the other, and let him escort them. Her sisters’ partners led each of them, and they all met up at the table. Doc was seated with Mr. Svane, Rosita, and Mercedes Gardner, who had been Mr. Svane’s dance partner for the last dance. 

“Do you think he likes Mercedes more than he likes me?” Willa asked, her voice low.

Wynonna took a long sip of her glass of wine and glared daggers at Rosita. “I hope so.”

“You’re little help,” Willa groused. 

Wynonna sighed. “I would not put all my hope in Mr. Svane, Willa,” she advised.

“Because your marriage prospects are so good?” Willa countered.

“Because I don’t believe him a good person, and I want only the best for you.”

“I think I like him. You’re not the only one who likes a bit of intrigue in your suitors. I, too, find the normal company tedious. He’s exciting, handsome, like a character out of one Waverly’s novels.”

While Wynonna did not necessarily disagree, she was also certain that, if Robert Svane were a character, he’d be the villain. She wasn’t a romantic like her sisters; she knew Doc was no hero. He was a rogue, an itinerant gambler, a seducer of women, and probably several more things she had yet to discover. This was a passing fancy, nothing more. Wynonna was going to sail the world, have many adventures, and happily die an old spinster, possibly leaving her mysterious fortune to a favored niece. Nothing—and no one—was going to stand in the way of that plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of [puce](https://www.theawl.com/2017/10/the-sexy-gross-story-of-puce/).
> 
> Do not google Regency era dentistry. Just take Doc's word on it and move on.


	4. To Keep Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I skipped last week! It was my birthday, and I just didn't get around to all the stuff that needs to happen to get a chapter posted.
> 
> I'll hopefully keep up with weekly posting for the next month or two, but then it'll probably drop off as I work through all the chapters that I've already written. I'm not the fastest writer in the world, unfortunately.

One of the servants had put out a tray of Bath Buns, their sweet caraway studded aroma permeating the drawing room where a sideboard was set with breakfast. Usually, Doc just had some bread and butter in the morning, but he wasn’t usually waking up in a fine house full of servants who were willing to get up before dawn to bake. 

“Brandy?” he asked.

“By Jove, Henry, it’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning,” Robert swore. “Have some hot chocolate or tea.”

“Say that again when I have my pistols on me,” Doc groused.

“There’s that Holliday charm,” Rosita said, a dainty cup in hand.

“If someone would bring me a bottle of brandy and a cigar, then I would be very charming,” he simpered.

“You’re not going to find those narrow things you prefer out here in the country,” Robert chuckled. “I hope you brought enough from London.”

“Ah, hell.” 

A servant did bring him a bottle of brandy, even pouring it in a glass for him. Doc thanked the man and swilled the sweet nectar down in one long swallow. He took a bite of his bun; it was still warm, studded with sugared caraway seeds and rich with butter. He could not help a pleased sigh around the bite.

“See, the country has its benefits,” Rosita said.

“That it does,” Doc agreed, thinking less of the pastry and more of the lily-white bosom of a certain spirited young woman he’d met the night before.

“Have you sent any of my new neighbors to the poor house, yet?” Robert asked. 

Doc had come out thirty pounds ahead, which would cover his expenses for the next fortnight, provided he didn’t see any losses in that time. The real treasure, however, he kept in his waistcoat pocket. He tucked a finger inside and felt its silkiness as if it were the flesh of the woman herself.

“The country is certainly full of interesting characters,” Rosita remarked haughtily. “I’d heard much said of local beauties, but I saw little competition. The Earp sisters were tedious, ugly things, and no one in town could stop talking about them.”

Doc’s finger tensed around the ribbon in his pocket, but he did not intervene. Rosita was motivated by something far uglier than what she accused the Earp sisters of being.

“Robert seemed charmed by Willa Earp,” one of the men at the table said. Doc didn’t look up to see who, but he hardly knew half of these people to begin with, so it made little difference.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to court her,” Rosita sighed.

“In fact, I am planning on calling on her this very morning,” Robert answered.

Now that caught Doc’s attention. “Could I accompany you?” he asked.

“Are you interested in an Earp sister?” Rosita sneered.

“Not at all,” he lied. “Their father briefly joined me at the table last night; I believe an acquaintance with him could be profitable. In return for the proper introductions, I could occupy the mother and sisters so that you could properly enjoy your time with the eldest Miss Earp.”

“We’ll take the curricle,” Robert said with a shrug.

Doc stuffed the rest of the Bath bun in his mouth, then, grabbing another, headed upstairs to his room to change into something suitable for calling on the Earps.

Most of his clothes were still at the inn with the rest of his belongings, but he had at least thought to bring his nicest things to Delrey House. He selected a waistcoat and coat and a pair of snug trousers that he had recently purchased in London. They were quite the height of fashion and showed his athletic figure to its best effect. He dressed quickly, taking bites of his second bun between steps. Robert hadn’t offered a man to help him with dressing and things, and he hadn’t brought anyone with him, so he had complete privacy as he let his mind wander to Wynonna Earp’s own fine figure, her blazing eyes, and her lush hair. He would love nothing more than to bury his face in her—

A knock at the door broke him out of his reverie. “Mr. Holliday, the Master is ready to leave.”

“A moment,” Doc answered. He adjusted his cock with a firm grip, sighing at the contact. 

“He says that he will leave without you if you do not come now.”

Doc let out a terse laugh but released his grip. He’d laid out his accessories on the dressing table, so he picked up his watch, his purse, his hat, pulled on his gloves, and found the silk ribbon. He felt a fool but tucked it into the pocket again and headed downstairs.

Robert drove the pair of horses, a perfectly matched set of black steeds, along the well-worn dirt road. When they reached the main thoroughfare, its neat gravel surface let him push them to their limit. They went so fast that Doc’s hat was nearly blown off, but he recovered it and kept it in his lap for the rest of the ride. At the rate they travelled, they would make the five-mile trip in hardly more than half an hour.

“Perhaps I should test out all three Earp girls,” Robert said as they turned at the crossroads. The road was still good but not for the speed they’d been going. “Waverly is a lovely young dove, and that Wynonna—

“Leave Wynonna alone,” Doc demanded.

Robert hummed an acknowledgement. 

“She is not your plaything,” he growled.

“She isn’t yours either. Just know, Henry, I could buy her just as easily as I bought you.”

“I have no interest in your money; I do not need it,” Doc chuckled darkly. Doc couldn’t throw a stone in London without hitting some fellow with more money than sense.

“You need my connections,” Robert countered. “You need my information.”

“You need my talents,” Doc reminded him. “You are much deeper in my debt than I will ever be with you. You hold that information over my head, but you know full well the moment you tell me what I want to know, I’ll take off.”

“Alone?”

“I want revenge on the bitch that ruined my family, anything else is a distraction.”

“Perhaps you should remember then, when you finally sink inside that distraction, that I could take her away from you on a whim.”

“In what world would I have an opportunity to bed a woman like Wynonna?” Doc asked. A gentleman’s daughter was destined for a gentleman, not a rogue who only dressed as one to win their coins away. Any sort of love affair was off the table besides. She was likely accompanied by one of her parents or her sisters at all times. Their encounter in the card room at the party was as unlikely as it was unacceptable, but a brief conversation, even one that crossed lines such as theirs, was a far cry from fornication.

“That’s not what I hear. I hear she all but invited you into her bed right then and there.”

“You were spying on me?”

“I keep an eye on my investments.”

Earp Hall suddenly came into view over the horizon. It was a stately house, even compared to Delrey House, showing none of the rumored money problems the Earps supposedly suffered from. The main part of the neat red bricked building was at least three stories high, seven bays wide, with two single story wings coming off each side. It was set back in a charming park, and, as they drew nearer, Doc could make out well-landscaped gardens to the sides and back. The house wasn’t as grand as Robert’s family home in the Lake District, and no larger than his new home in the neighborhood, but it had something Robert could never have: history. The fine brick structure was clearly the home of a family with respect, and Doc had never felt more apart from the beautiful Wynonna.

A footman approached the carriage as soon as Robert stopped it, and the two men stepped down. Doc rearranged his hat neatly on his head and followed the other man through the main door. Robert handed his calling card to a servant who scurried towards the back.

“Mr. Svane and Mr Holliday,” he heard the servant announce. When she returned, she told them to follow her into the drawing room where a bank of windows showed off a picturesque view of the formal gardens. The only sight inside, however, was Miss Waverly, seated on a settee facing them. She had a closed book on her lap, as if she had just stopped reading to greet them. 

“Miss Earp,” both men said politely. Robert took a chair facing the gardens, leaving Doc to either sit next to Miss Waverly or to sit on the other side. As sweet as Miss Waverly seemed, he chose the one across from her. She exhaled deeply as if in relief, and Doc was suddenly stricken with the realization that she didn’t like him.

“Have I offended you, Miss Earp?” he asked.

“No,” she said, far too quickly to be a truth. 

The urge to defend himself against an imagined wrong fell away when Miss Waverly’s elder sister entered the room. Wynonna had been beautiful at the ball, indeed, but in the morning light, she was radiant. Her dress was made of the thinnest, sheerest muslin he’d ever seen, over a yellow layer that peeked out of the bottom. There was nothing inappropriate about the dress, yet it most certainly gave the impression of nudity. It reminded Doc of his youth, when women’s clothing switched from petticoats and conical bodices to sheer muslin draped over uncorseted bosoms. The daring eroticism of that time may be the only fond memory he has of those troubled years. This dress, however, would fuel his dreams forever. 

“You called very early, today, after a night of dancing” she said by way of explanation. There were three open chairs in the center of the room, but she crossed the room and sat herself next to Doc. “Mr. Holliday.”

“Miss Wynonna.”

In the light of day, he couldn’t remember if complimenting her dress was against social mores or not, but he thought it wise to not admit to her younger sister that he was admiring Wynonna’s figure so blatantly. Wynonna, on the other hand, couldn’t hide the smug, satisfied smile on her beautiful face. She was proving irresistible in so many ways.

They were joined by the eldest Miss Earp and their mother after a few moments of heavy silence. Miss Earp sat next to Miss Waverly on the settee, while Mrs. Earp took the chair nearest Robert. Willa took out a hooped piece of cloth and began stitching some kind of sampler.

“We all had such a lovely time last night. Thank you for inviting us,” Miss Earp said to Robert.

“I was happy to have the company of such lovely young ladies,” he replied.

“We were happy to be there,” Miss Earp said.

Next to Doc, Wynonna let out a small huff of laughter, her eyes rolling back just enough to indicate she thought their polite conversation as pointless and dull as he did. If not for her company, he’d rather be out shooting, riding, or playing cards, and he wondered if she could have felt the same way. Of course, he could easily think of an activity the both of them could engage in that would be most enjoyable. Before he let his mind wander in that direction, however, he had to remember the company, as he’d already learned his tight trousers left little room for arousal.

Across the room, Miss Waverly was frowning at him. For a moment, he forgot that it did not mark a change in her expression and believed her capable of reading his lustful thoughts. Miss Earp and Robert were still chatting away about some inanity, so it wasn’t like he was inclined to join in the conversation. There was a soft touch against his arm; he looked down to see Wynonna’s delicate hand against his coat sleeve. 

“Mr. Holliday, would you be inclined to take a turn of the gardens with myself and my younger sister,” Wynonna asked.

Miss Waverly’s frown changed directions towards her sister, but Wynonna’s face remained turned up towards him with a clever expression on her pretty features. 

“I would like nothing more,” Doc said. He couldn’t have said if he was more grateful for the escape from the boring courting ritual or the opportunity for more privacy with Wynonna. As he looked down at her eager face, it was decidedly the latter.

The drawing room in which they sat had a door that led out to the gardens, so it was a quick step out to the grounds. Doc put on his hat and took one Earp sister on each arm to lead them onto the path. To their left, the formal gardens spread out around the wing of the house where the ballroom and dining room were located; ahead, wide lawns stretched out towards a long fountain with a charming little Greek temple at the end. Beyond the gardens, the natural landscape filled the horizon, all of it belonging to the Earps. 

As soon as they were out of the house, Miss Waverly dropped his arm as if he was a poisonous snake.

“Miss Waverly, I do not believe you like me.”

She stubbornly crossed her arms, her face contorting into an expression of revulsion, but, again, her words were of denial. “I like you just fine, Mr. Holliday.”

“Now I know that is not true,” he countered. Wynonna’s arm was still in his, and he glanced over to her. She appeared as confused as he was and could offer no assistance except to urge her sister to confess. After several long seconds of uncomfortable silence as they walked between hedges and flowerbeds still bright with late summer blooms, Miss Waverly finally spoke.

“At the ball last night, there was a shortage of partners, and you refused to dance with me,” she admitted.

The sweet, dear girl! If he’d ever imagined his own failings could have hurt her so, he would have consented to the dance despite his limitations.

“I was not trying to spurn you,” Doc explained. “I truly do not know how to dance.”

Wynonna glanced up at him conspiratorially, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip alluringly, before turning to her sister. “If you saw him dancing the cotillion you wouldn’t question the veracity of his words now.”

“You see, it is not that I am not inclined to dance; it is simply that I have never learnt the steps.” He smiled warmly at Wynonna, who had defended him even against her beloved sister.

Miss Waverly did not seem satisfied; her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “When exactly did the two of you become such friends?” she asked, looking between them.

Wynonna dropped her arm from his, stepping away several paces. “Friends?” she asked, her voice cracking. “We are hardly even acquaintances.”

Miss Waverly hummed disbelievingly, her arms still crossed and her eyes darting between Wynonna and him. Wynonna approached her sister, pulling her out of Doc’s earshot. Their conversation was animated, both gesturing and whispering fervently. Doc made no attempts to hear their words, so he allowed himself to be distracted by the lovely landscaping of their gardens. He reached out and touched the soft petal of a rose, its velvety texture reminding him of the soft touch of a woman’s skin. He had to get out of the country and back to London where he could indulge in the sins of the flesh and forget about Wynonna Earp.

“Get your novel, find your favorite bench in a lovely, sunny spot, and I’ll entertain Mr. Holliday,” Wynonna’s voice raised enough that he could hear. 

“Leaving you alone with a strange man?” Miss Waverly asked.

“Only you will know. My reputation is not so fragile that even you doubt my character, is it?”

Miss Waverly gave one last glance at Doc, then stomped back towards the house like a child. Wynonna was back at his side, her arm in his, before her younger sister had disappeared from view. Wynonna led him deeper into the garden.

“Willa asked us to keep you occupied so that she could have more time with Mr. Svane,” she said with a clever smile. 

“Perhaps I did the same for Mr. Svane,” Doc replied with one of his own.

“So you didn’t come to call on me?” She dropped his arm and stepped away to regard him seriously, but she didn’t sound disappointed. Indeed, her tone was more of flirtation and challenge than of anything else. 

He raised his hands in defeat, palms towards her. She grabbed at the closest, palm to palm, fingers entwined, tugging him along the path. They passed through an archway; instead of the neat lines of the formal garden, the plants were untrimmed and growing wild. Eventually, any semblance of pattern was gone, and the paths were overgrown such that it became difficult to walk, even in his boots. Wynonna, in a pair of kidskin slippers, seemed to fly over the difficult terrain, as if her feet knew the path on their own. Suddenly, she stopped, and Doc found in front of them a tumbling stone ruin. They passed through an ancient gate set in a crumbling wall; vines climbed up the old stones weaving in and out of narrow windows.

“This is my favorite place,” Wynonna said, her voice soft and reverent. “My grandfather demolished the old castle to build these gardens, but at least he spared the keep.”

“It is certainly beautiful,” he replied, not looking away from her face. Her cheeks were rosy with exertion, her hair mussed and wild, and no vista could compare.

She leaned against a moss-covered pile of stones, smiling at him in a way that melted whatever reserve he may have had left. “I can’t belief you spurned my sister,” she said.

“I did explain,” he said defensively. “I cannot dance.”

“You danced with Miss Rosita,” Wynonna said, exaggerating the name in mocking derision.

“I attempted to,” Doc admitted.

“I’m surprised she was able to stay upright.” Wynonna most definitely thought she was being clever, but it was cruelty that Doc heard. Miss Bustillos did not deserve such treatment; she was a bright, thoughtful, intelligent young woman whose only flaw was fancying him.

“Jealousy is not becoming on you, Wynonna.”

“I’m not jealous, _Doc_ ,” she scoffed. “I am simply wondering how you, who doesn’t otherwise dance, managed to dance only with the most buxom young lady at the ball.”

Doc raised his hands in mock surrender. “Pardon me for indulging the sister of my patron.” 

“Your patron?” she asked in surprise. Her jealousy seemed to dissolve instantly to be replaced by curiosity. “What could you offer a man such as Robert Svane?”

“Gambling is not my only skill,” he said.

“So I gathered,” she replied with a sly smile.

“That’s not my only skill, either,” he smiled back with a wink.

“You wouldn’t speak like that if my mother was near,” she scolded him, but her body leaned towards him eagerly. 

He removed his hat and closed the distance, another thing he wouldn’t have dared in the presence of her mother. “Neither would you.”

Her eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight, dappled through overgrown trees and bowers. She was more than beautiful this close, he felt like he could know her in this one tiny instance, every contradiction and nuance laid bare in front of him. Her mouth was so near and so perfect, that he leaned down to taste it, desperate for this one tiny thing that could give him the world.

“Wynonna,” he whispered, like a prayer. Her breath was warm on his lips, and he was about to kiss her, only to be stopped by a hand on his chest, pushing him back.

“I don’t—” she began, but her eyes finished the sentence her lips couldn’t. He backed away until there was an acceptable space between them.

“I must have misinterpreted your intent,” he said by way of apology, placing his hat atop his head once again.

“You violated it is what you mean,” she countered, straightening and rearranging her skirts with purpose. “You forget my station and my obligations.”

“Perhaps it is you who had forgotten them,” he pointed out. 

Wynonna—Miss Earp—raised her hand as if to slap him, then dropped it to her side. “Why do you have to be like this?”

“Would you have preferred a formal declaration of my interest in you?” Doc asked. “Ask you to dance, formally call on you, make polite conversation about the weather and how the musicians played too many gavottes? Talk your father into a business deal where I pay for your bed and board in exchange for your maidenhood? Is that what you want?”

“I hate you,” she spat.

“Darlin’, you do not even know me.”

“And I never shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit about naming conventions, if you're unfamiliar. The oldest daughter in a family would be known almost exclusively as Miss [Last Name}, then subsequent sisters would be Miss [First Name], unless they were on their own at the time, when they would most likely be Miss [Last Name]. Gentleman were known as Mr. [Last Name] to most women outside of their family and among men they didn't know. Between friends, gentlemen might use a nickname or drop the Mr. before the last name.
> 
> First names (without the Miss beforehand) were only for family members and very close friends. Sometimes married couples didn't use first names even in private (and never in public). To use someone's first name was a very intimate thing.


End file.
